


Unchain Me

by Ian_Zola_Rogers



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: The First Avenger, Capture, Multiple Endings, Omorashi, Wetting, alternative ending, i'm trash and i know it, restrained
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 06:05:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18219194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ian_Zola_Rogers/pseuds/Ian_Zola_Rogers
Summary: Bucky wakes up in an unfamiliar place. God, it hurts. His wrists hurt, his shoulders hurt, his chest hurts, all from being suspended by chains from the ceiling. His bladder hurts. Hurts from being so full.





	1. Main Story

**Author's Note:**

> Bet you assholes thought I was dead? Well, I'm not, and I am NOT sorry for this.

Bucky wakes up, slowly, groggy, vision fuzzy. He tries to remember what happened, but all he gets is a static fuzz from his brain. He groans, tilting his head back against his forearm.  
Wait.

Oh, god no.

His eyes shoot open, taking in his surroundings. The room is dimly lit, with brick walls and a table on the other side of the room. There’s also a large mirror, directly in front of him. It makes him feel like he’s being watched, even though all he can see is his reflection.

His wrists are suspended above him, in shackles, pulling him off of the ground. His shirt and jacket have been discarded long ago, as well as his boots and socks. If he tries, he can touch the floor with his bare toes, and wiggle around.

Bucky screams, pulling at the chains that bind his wrists. They do nothing, they don’t even budge, they only dig into his wrists more.

“Let me go,” he yells, kicking his legs up in the air. “Let me go! Help! Cap!”

Now he remembers. Him, Steve, and the Commandos had been on a mission, rescuing hostages from a HYDRA base. He remembers the mission slowly spiralling downhill, when more German soldiers than they ever calculated for poured out of the trees, out of the barns and buildings surrounding the base. His last memory is hiding behind a large boulder, trying to snipe down another HYDRA soldier when something hit the side of his head. Which, explains the headache he has right now.

“Bastards!” He screams, using his legs to throw his body around. “Fucking get me out of here!” He grunts, struggling to free himself, “you cowards! You fucking cowards!”

There’s a large, metal door behind him, but he can’t see it. He hears it open, and footsteps echo off the concrete walls of the room. “I wouldn't insult HYDRA like that, unless…” the voice, it’s so familiar. _Horrifyingly_ familiar.

The lights flicker on as the Red Skull steps around the room, stopping in front of Bucky. He gasps, trying his hardest to move away, but the restraints keep him in place, hovering mere inches above the floor.

“... unless, that is, you have a death wish.” The Skull says with as much of a smirk as his skinless face could allow.

“What do you want?” Bucky grumbles, pulling on the chains.

The Skull chuckles, walking over to the table that Bucky barely even noticed before. “I want to see you _suffer_ , Sergeant Barnes…” His gloved hands pick a jug up off the table, and Bucky can hear liquid sloshing around inside of it. Schmidt uncaps it, stepping back to where Bucky hangs. He puts the opening up to his lips, and tips it back. “ _Drink_.” He orders, as water pours out.

At first, Bucky keeps his lips shut tight. He has no idea what the Skull has done to the water, if it’s poisoned or filled with drugs or if it’s even water at all. So he bites his lips and pulls away, water dripping down his chin and onto his chest.

Schmidt growls, then grabs his jaw. “I said _drink_.” He forces Bucky’s mouth open with his (much stronger) hand, and tips back the jug again. Water pours into his mouth, down his throat before he can stop it. He squeezes his eyes shut, struggling to move away, but getting nowhere. He’s swallowed several large mouthfuls before Schmidt is satisfied, and puts the jug down on the table.

“The hell did you do to me?” Bucky growls, twisting his body around to look at the Skull.

“I haven’t done anything to you, Barnes,” he stops in the doorway, and Bucky can see Zola standing behind him, small and meek in Schmidt’s dark shadow. “Not yet, anyways.”

The door shuts, leaving Bucky all alone. The air is cold, and it makes his skin prickle. Bucky dangles, wondering how the hell this happened to him, and why on Earth wasn’t Steve here to rescue him?! He’s gotta be here soon, right? Of course, Steve would _never_ leave his best friend to rot away in HYDRA’s basement, not when they were so close to taking down the base. There still is the chance that they took Bucky to another base, but Steve would find him, no matter what. He’s Captain America, he’d find a way to save his best friend.

Bucky struggled, pulling on the chains, but they didn’t move. He gave up trying to escape, and decided to wait for Steve to come get him. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, noticing the bruise near his temple where he was struck. He purses his lips, pondering how he’s going to get back at HYDRA for locking him up like this.

He thinks and he waits. He waits and he thinks. Nothing happens. Not for what feels like years. There’s no windows, no clocks, he doesn’t even have his watch, he doesn’t know what time it is.  
The door opens again, and he jerks his body around to see who it is. It’s the scientist, Zola, holding his hat to his chest like he’s not quite sure of what to do.

“Fucking freak,” Bucky mutters, spinning back around and staring him down in the mirror. They make eye contact for a few moments, before Zola moves to the table. He sets down his hat and takes the jug again, then makes his way towards Bucky.

“Oh, hell no, you won’t,” the moment Zola is within reach, Bucky kicks at him, nailing the smaller man in the gut and sending him straight to the floor. The jug spills all down his front, soaking his suit. Bucky grins, enjoying this moment of pride--

When Schmidt storms into the room. He’s not happy (when is that man ever happy?), and glares daggers at Bucky in the mirror. He stomps over, picks the leaking jug up off the floor. When Bucky tries to kick him, he gets a kick back, in the kneecap. It’s not hard enough to break the bone, but hard enough to hurt.

The spout is pressed to his lips again, and the jug is tilted back. “ _Drink_ ,” he demands, “ _drink every last drop_.” Water spills out, in his mouth, down his throat, and he’s forced to swallow before he drowns. He drinks until he’s impossibly full, and his stomach sloshes with water when he moves.

Schmidt takes the jug away, grabs Zola, and leaves the room. The metal door shuts and locks behind him. Now Bucky’s wishing he could shove his fingers down his throat and get rid of the (probably poisoned) water in his system. He’s going to have to take a leak soon, and there’s no way he’ll be able to take his cock out of his pants when his hands are held above his hand.

Unless that was Skull’s plan all along.

“Fucking fucks!” He yells, twisting and turning his body, “you get back here! Cowards! Fucking face me!” He kicks and screams, until he’s exhausted. Giving up, he relaxes his entire body, tracing lines on the floor with his toes. Steve will come soon, he’s sure of it.

Time passed--he’s not sure if it’s been hours or minutes--uneventfully, until his bladder gave a slight twinge, telling him he’ll need to piss. Soon. It’s covered up by the ache in his arms and shoulders, and relatively ignored. He can no longer feel his hands. That’s a more concerning matter than needing to piss. He drifts back into la-la land, trying to move his fingers. He still can’t feel them.

His bladder throbs again, pulling him out of his thoughts. Bucky twists, slightly, attempting to get comfortable. It’s useless, and his bladder aches when he moves. No matter, Steve will be here soon. He just focuses on getting feeling back in his hands.

By the time he _thinks_ he can feel the metal shackles that hold him in place, the slight pressure in his bladder has escalated to a dull ache. The water was filtering through his system at a rapid rate (or, maybe like normal, he still doesn’t know what time it is), filling him up. He groans, squeezing his thighs together. “Hey, hey!” He yells, “anyone there? C’mon, I gotta piss.”

His calls are answered, to his surprise. The Red Skull opens the door, and steps into the room. It’s only _now_ that Bucky realizes the mirror across from him is probably one-way, and they can see straight through, while he can only see himself.

“What is it, Barnes?” Schmidt steps in front of him, one hand behind his back, dissatisfied look on his face.

“I. Have. To. Fucking. Piss.” Bucky growls, “ya know, cause you shoved all that damn water down my throat.”

“Ah, that reminds me,” the Red Skull pulls a _canteen_ out from behind him, and slowly unscrews it. Bucky gasps, trying desperately to get traction on the floor, to push himself away. He shakes his head, protesting.

Schmidt grabs his jaw again, forcing his mouth open. He pours the contents of the canteen into his mouth, slowly, making sure he swallows all of it.

Bucky gags and retches, but ends up swallowing the water. Red Skull laughs when it’s over. “There, now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” He throws the canteen to another part of the room, no longer needing it.

“Funny,” Bucky narrows his eyes, “let me go.”

“Not until you give me what I want.”

“What do you want?” His bladder pangs at the idea of release.

“I want every attack plan of the US Army.” Schmidt smirks, leaning in close, “and, most importantly, everything you’ve got on Captain America.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Bucky kicks the Skull’s shins, his bladder throbbing at the sudden movement.

“Tsk, tsk,” Red Skull shakes his head, then turns to leave, “just keep my offer in mind, Sarge.”

“I’d rather die,” he yells.

“See, I intend to _break_ you, Barnes. It would be very wise of you to cooperate now, so maybe, I’ll go easy on you later.” He chuckles, the sound alone could kill a whole litter of pups. “Besides, Zola still has those _experiments_ he needs to finish.”

Schmidt leaves the room and closes the door behind him. Bucky swears, hanging his head. His dick twitches in his pants, which feel tighter and tighter with time. His abdomen hurts, and he’s getting desperate. Letting out a shaky breath, he crosses his ankles, pressing his thighs together as much as he can. It helps for a while, until the pain shows up again.

He looks at the belt that’s keeping his pants up. If he could just reach down and open it up, maybe even pop the first button on his pants, he’d feel better, less desperate--

But no, his hands are above his head, with little to no feeling left in them. The need to relieve himself has blood pumping throughout his body, thankfully, giving him _some_ feeling back in his fingertips. He tries to find a weak point in the chains, maybe a lock he can pick--

It’s a dumb idea. His lock picking kit was hidden in his boots, which are god only knows where right now. _C’mon, Steve, hurry up…_

His belt presses against his stomach, creating more pressure against his bulging belly. He has to go, and it’s only a matter of time before the water the Red Skull just gave him would work its way through his system and into his impossibly full bladder.

He curls his toes, sighing. He’s getting antsy, fidgety, and he knows it. Suddenly, he can’t sit still. He’s clenching and unclenching his fists, tapping his toes against the floor, twisting his body around. He doesn’t know why this helps, but he feels like if he stops moving, he’s going to lose control.

“C’mon, c’mon Cap, Cap…”

“Ohh, hurry up, please…”

“Shit, Steve…”

Before he knows it he’s babbling, begging, pleading for Steve to come rescue him. He can’t shut up, can’t stop moving. Tears well up in the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision some. He’s also panting--on the verge of hyperventilating--and sniffling, like he’s about to cry like a baby. Bucky doesn’t want it to end like this. He’s going to piss himself, Schmidt’s going to laugh in his face, and Steve will never come to save him. He moans, double crossing his legs, twisting his aching body around.

His bladder spasms, and a little bit of urine leaks out of him before he can control it. He stops the stream as soon as he can, but it leaves a wet spot on the inside of his thighs. “Shit, no no, no, can’t lose it, gotta--”

An explosion wracks the building, shaking the room. Bucky’s yanked out of his thoughts, and he turns his head to watch the door behind him. Nothing happens for several minutes (or was it several seconds?) and he breathes a sigh of relief.

The moment air rushes out from behind his lips, he hears another explosion. It doesn’t jolt the room, but it _does_ make him nervous. Are they under attack? Is Steve with them? Did something go horribly wrong upstairs? Are they self-destructing? A million questions go through his head, when he gets a little too relaxed and starts pissing again, just for a split second. “Fuck!” He screams, trying to stop himself. He’s an adult, and that’s probably Steve and the Commandos, he can hold it until they find him. He’s not a helpless child. He can control it.

More explosions occur all around him. Bucky can’t pinpoint the location, all he can hear is the loud thunders of the dynamite discharging. But, with every loud boom, the room shakes, and he loses control for a fleeting moment. The streams become longer and more powerful every time, creating a large dark spot on his military-issued trousers. He’s so close to rescue, the explosions are so close--

And then one goes off so close he can physically _feel_ the aftershocks, and it’s over. He sobs as dark streaks form down his legs, across his thighs. He goes limp, uncontrollably pissing himself. It runs all down his legs, staining his pants and dripping onto the floor. He hears it, splashing against the concrete, like it’s as loud as the explosions.

It’s well over a minute until he stops, and his bladder is void. Bucky wipes his tears away on his arm before Schmidt can burst in and see them.

He hears knocking on the door, then pounding. Bucky just sighs, waits for the inevitable.  
But it’s not the Red Skull. The door opens, and he hears a gasp. “Bucky?”

He doesn’t turn his body around. He just hangs there.

“Bucky?” Steve steps around, making eye contact with him? “Bucky? Oh my god, what happened?”

“Fucking Red Skull happened.” He mumbled, not proud of himself.

“Oh my god,” Steve glances him up and down, then grits his teeth. He reaches up, wraps one arm around his piss-soaked friend and cuts the chains with his shield, then brings him down to the ground. He supports Bucky until he can stand on his own two feet, in a puddle of his own piss.

“Steve, I’m--”

“No,” Steve cuts him off, “don’t. C’mon, we’ll get you something else to wear.”

The super-soldier leaves, and Bucky chases off behind him. They check every room for something to replace his soiled trousers, but find nothing but a large blanket. It’s better than nothing, so Bucky just strips and wraps it around himself. If anything, he can say _Zola experimented on me again_ and pray he doesn’t reek of piss.

They leave, side by side, just in time for the building to collapse, burying any evidence of what happened to him beneath mounds of debris. Bucky shivers in the cold, but it’s better than standing in wet pants. They can always get him new ones.

He rides back to their base with Steve and the Commandos in the back of a truck. He’s still wrapped in a blanket. Dum-Dum asks what happened. He lies, “I woke up strapped to a table in my birthday suit. Personally, I think Red Skull’s just a pervert.” They laugh.

Bucky glances over at Steve, and they share a knowing look. It’s a secret between them. Only they will ever know what happened.


	2. Alternative Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since as I was writing, I couldn't decide which ending would be the best... so here we are.

“C’mon, c’mon Cap, Cap…”

“Ohh, hurry up, please…”

“Shit, Steve…”

Before he knows it he’s babbling, begging, pleading for Steve to come rescue him. He can’t shut up, can’t stop moving. Tears well up in the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision some. He’s also panting--on the verge of hyperventilating--and sniffling, like he’s about to cry like a baby. Bucky doesn’t want it to end like this. He’s going to piss himself, Schmidt’s going to laugh in his face, and Steve will never come to save him. He moans, double crossing his legs, twisting his aching body around.

His bladder spasms, and a little bit of urine leaks out of him before he can control it. He stops the stream as soon as he can, but it leaves a wet spot on the inside of his thighs. “Shit, no no, no, can’t lose it, gotta--”

An explosion wracks the building, shaking the room. Bucky’s yanked out of his thoughts, and he turns his head to watch the door behind him. Nothing happens for several minutes (or was it several seconds?) and he breathes a sigh of relief.

The moment air rushes out from behind his lips, he hears another explosion. It doesn’t jolt the room, but it  _ does _ make him nervous. Are they under attack? Is Steve with them? Did something go horribly wrong upstairs? Are they self-destructing? A million questions go through his head, when he gets a little too relaxed and starts pissing again, just for a split second. “Fuck!” He screams, trying to stop himself. He’s an adult, and that’s probably Steve and the Commandos, he can hold it until they find him. He’s not a helpless child. He can control it.

More explosions occur all around him. Bucky can’t pinpoint the location, all he can hear is the loud thunders of the dynamite discharging. But, with every loud boom, the room shakes, and he loses control for a fleeting moment. The streams become longer and more powerful every time, creating a large dark spot on his military-issued trousers. He’s so close to rescue, the explosions are so close--

And then one goes off so close he can physically  _ feel _ the aftershocks, and he thinks it’s all over. But he saves it at the last moment, contains the piss in his bladder and just hopes for the best.

He hears knocking on the door, and then pounding. He’s shaking at this point, and cries out, “Steve!”

It’s a damn miracle, but Captain America opens up the door, staring his partner down. “Bucky?”

“Steve! Fuck, get me down from here!”

“Oh my god, what happened?” He runs over, wraps an arm around his friend. It puts more pressure on Bucky’s bladder, and he sobs.

“Fucking Red Skull happened.” The moment his feet touch the floor, he’s doubled over, hands on his crotch, squeezing as hard as he can.

“Oh my god,” Steve repeats, then grabs Bucky’s bicep. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here.”

Bucky’s slow, he has to piss so bad, but he follows Cap as best as he can. He stumbles, grabs ahold of the wall, but he moves.

Another explosion shakes the room as though it’s a damn  _ earthquake _ , and Bucky loses his footing. His body is thrown into the doorway, the extra jolt of his bladder is enough for the floodgates to open, and it’s over.

He tries so hard to stop the stream, he tries, but he fails. Bucky’s pants turn dark with piss, and it hisses so loudly they can hear it over the sound of debris falling in the hallways. He sinks to the floor, still pissing, mortified. Steve stopped, dead in his tracks, and just watches.

It feels like forever until the stream ends, and Bucky just buries his face in his knees and cries. He’s not a baby, and yet, he just wet himself like he was one.

“Hey,” Steve says, getting his attention, “hey.”

His hand is so comforting on his shoulder, and it grounds him. “Steve, I’m--”

“Don’t.” He crouches next to his brunet friend, and looks at him. “C’mon, man, let’s get you out of here.”

They can’t find any pants for Bucky to change into, but they do find a blanket. He strips, leaves his trousers in the puddle of piss, and leaves.

They leave, side by side, just in time for the building to collapse, burying any evidence of what happened to him beneath mounds of debris. Bucky shivers in the cold, but it’s better than standing in wet pants. They can always get him new ones.

He rides back to their base with Steve and the Commandos in the back of a truck. He’s still wrapped in a blanket. Dum-Dum asks what happened. He lies, “I woke up strapped to a table in my birthday suit. Personally, I think Red Skull’s just a pervert.” They laugh.

Bucky glances over at Steve, and they share a knowing look. It’s a secret between them. Only they will ever know what happened.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m giving out tickets to a free, eternal vacation to hell, so please, take one as you read.


End file.
